


Interlude II: a note, in the margins, 'noticeable reaction to alternate timeline; learn more'

by Butterfly



Series: Scenes from a Resurrection Story [13]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen, Quentin Coldwater/Arielle (mentioned/minor)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: Roxann asks Quentin about the Monster and about Eliot.





	Interlude II: a note, in the margins, 'noticeable reaction to alternate timeline; learn more'

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: very brief reference to anxiety attacks. Reference to the Monster's invasive behavior around Quentin.

“I notice that your friend Julia dropped you off today.” Roxann tugged out her notebook and settled into the armchair as Quentin curled up on the big couch. “How have the attempts at separation been working for you?”

“I don't panic as much when El's not around,” Quentin said. He looked like he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. “I still... worry. But I haven't been having any meltdowns recently.”

“That's good,” she said, infusing it with warmth and sincerity. “Are you feeling ready to talk more about the Monster? You said last week that you thought you might be able to talk about him in more detail.”

Quentin shivered and curled into himself. “I- maybe.” He froze for a moment, taking stock of himself, then nodded firmly. “Yeah. I think I'm ready.”

“You don't have any trouble telling Eliot and the Monster apart. Why not?”

“He never- he was never any good at being Eliot,” Quentin said and there was a little shake of the head there, amused. “It was always- he never fit quite right into Eliot's body. Even when- even when he tried to touch me the way that Eliot does, he never did it... it never felt like Eliot.”

“What ways did he touch you?”

“Not like that,” Quentin said, with a dismissive hand wave. “He didn't- I don't think he would have understood any of that if someone had _tried_ to explain it to him.”

She waited, patiently, for Quentin to answer the question she'd asked, but made a quick note of the question he'd answered first.

“He- uh, at first he was just like a child-” and there was a beat of warmth there, a fondness that she was certain had nothing to do with the Monster. It was about the boy, then, the son that he'd only glancingly mentioned from the alternate timeline where Mr. Waugh and the unnamed wife had come up with the color code for Quentin's mental health checks. “-he just wanted my attention and he threw- threw temper tantrums if he felt like I wasn't- wasn't giving him enough. After- after Eliot broke through, it changed a little.” Quentin's hand rose to the side of his own neck, rubbed softly, and she saw colorful fabric wrapped around and around his wrist – a tie? Likely Mr. Waugh's. “I think Eliot's mind affected him more after that, but it was still- it still never actually felt like El.”

“How was it different?”

“When Eliot touches me-” a pause, a slight flush, the hint of a smile “-um, he's always in complete control but it's- soft? That sounds stupid.” He glanced at her, seeing if she agreed with that, but she just gave him a nod to continue. “It makes it sound like a- Eliot is my _friend_ -” almost defiantly, that, as if he expected her to challenge him on it or was afraid that she wouldn't “-he just. Um. I read about love languages once and honestly it didn't really make sense to me? But Eliot likes touching people that he-uh. He cares about. You saw him with Margo back before- before I started my sessions, right? I bet he was touching her. It's the same thing.”

“They do seem like very supportive friends,” Roxann noted, mildly. “And so the Monster wasn't soft, then?”

Quentin snorted, leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling for a time. She remained quiet, letting him gather together his thoughts. “Not soft,” he agreed. “I could feel- there was no- it was just _different_. Everything was different. He wasn't Eliot and it- it- it was the worst thing.” His voice lowered, confidential. “It was the worst thing I ever- ever felt.”

She let the moment stand for five, then ten beats, to see if Quentin wanted to elaborate. When he remained silent, she prompted, “Eliot's friendship means a lot to you.”

A quick, shuddering breath.

“Um. Yeah. He's- uh. He- um. He's not like most people, you know? When- when you fuck up with most people, it- it ruins everything. But I- He- like he's the one person in the world who- who can tell you he'd rather stay friends and actually- actually _mean_ it and he- yeah. It means a lot that he still- even if I-” Quentin tugged on the tie wrapped around his wrist, yanking on it each time he cut his own words off. “Eliot is- a better friend than most people are- than most guys are husbands.” His words seemed to sputter out after that, but the tugging continued.

“When you and Eliot were in the alternate timeline, did you think of him as your husband?” she asked, and he looked up at her suddenly – shocked, betrayed? Hurt. He looked like she'd slapped him in the face. “Remember, this isn't about how Eliot felt or what happened afterwards. How did you think of him in that timeline?”

“I...” His face worked through a good dozen emotions in a handful of seconds, but settled on- defeat. Resignation. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” So, for Quentin, Mr. Waugh's rejection afterwards hadn't felt like a break-up. It had felt like a divorce.

“We can go back to talking about the Monster, if that's easier for you,” she said, gently.

“I- no. No,” Quentin said, tug-tug-tugging. “I want- can I- let's talk about- I'd like to tell you about- I remember being married. And I- I liked it. With both of them. I _liked_ it. And I wanna- I wanna talk about something that felt good.”

“I'd love to hear more,” Roxann said and Quentin gave her a shy smile that made his entire face light up.

“So, we first met her – Arielle – when she came by to sell us some fruit. Peaches and- and plums...”

 


End file.
